Live in Glenfarg
Live in Glenfarg (2004)
- Lochanside
- Battle of Waterloo
- Glenlogie
- Jimmy¹s Gone To Flanders
- Road to New York
- Forfar Sodger
- Losin¹ Auld Reekie
- Neptune
- Achiltibuie
- Sir Patrick Spens
- Fields of Angus
- Lochs of the Tay
- The Wild Geese
- Flowers of Edinburgh
- The Party
Lochanside
(Tune McLellan; words and arrangement Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)
Come the winter, cold and dreary
Brings the hawk down from the high scree
to the whins where snowy hares hide
All around the Lochanside
Come the spring the land lies weary
Till the sun shines out so cheery
Brings the bloom, for all of June¹s pride
All around the Lochanside
If you’d been you¹d have seen the scatter
O the peezies o¹er the machair
When above the tawny owl glides
All around the Lochanside
And the heron he comes a-creeping
Through the rashes so green and dreeping
to the pool where wily trout slide
All around the Lochanside
Aye if you ever have a reason
To be here in any season
Come and try the barley bree in
Round the fire on Lochanside
Summer time the fish are louping
Dippers in the burnies couping
Swallows fly from dawn til evens-tide
All around the Lochanside
By the autumn the pinks are winging
Blaeberries o¹er the moors are hanging
Salmon through the surging spate fight
All around the Lochanside
If ye¹d been ye¹d have seen the scatter
O the peezies o¹er the machair
When above the tawny owl glides
All around the Lochanside
Aye if you ever have a reason
To be here in any season
Come and try the barley bree in
Round the fire on Lochanside
Aye if you ever have a notion
To be welcomed with devotion
Travel home o¹er any ocean
To be here on Lochanside.
Battle of Waterloo
(Tune traditional; words and arrangement Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)
Spring comes to Kirrie, all the world¹s in bloom,
Winter is forgiven now, fooled by April¹s broom,
Kirrie, oh Kirrie, you were aye my hame
Till Napoleon¹s bloody cannon hit their aim,
Jeanie oh Jeanie, I am surely done,
Stricken down in battle, at the mooth o Boney¹s guns,
Jeannie oh Jeannie, aye sae dear tae me,
Let me hold you in my mind afore I dee
For the cold returns in autumn
when the wind rakes the trees,
And the summer lies forgotten
In a cold bed of leaves,
As winter begins aye mind Boney,
It wasn¹t only you,
Who was broken on the field of Waterloo.
Surgeon oh surgeon, leave me wi my pain,
Save your knife for others, who will surely rise again,
Surgeon oh surgeon, leave my blood to pour,
Let it drain into the bitter clay once more,
For the cold returns in autumn
when the wind rakes the trees,
And the summer lies forgotten
In a cold bed of leaves,
As winter begins aye mind Boney,
It wasn¹t only you,
Who was broken on the field of Waterloo.
Daughter oh daughter, listen dear tae me,
Never wed a sodger, or a widow you will be
Daughter oh daughter, curse your lad to die,
Ere he catches the recruiting sergeant¹s eye,
For the cold returns in autumn
When the wind rakes the trees,
And the summer lies forgotten
In a cold bed of leaves,
As winter begins aye mind Boney,
It wasn¹t only you,
Who was broken on the field of Waterloo.
Boney oh Boney, war was aye your game,
Bloody field your table, cannon yours to aim,
Boney oh Boney, we aye lived the same,
Drilling laddies not to fear the muskets¹ flame,
For the cold returns in autumn
When the wind rakes the trees,
And the summer lies forgotten
In a cold bed of leaves,
As winter begins aye mind Boney,
It wasn¹t only you,
Who was broken on the field of Waterloo.
Glenlogie
(Trad, arranged Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS)
Here were four and twenty nobles stood at the king¹s ha¹
And bonnie Glenlogie was the flooer o them a¹
There was nine and nine nobles rade thro¹ Banchory fair
And bonnie Glenlogie was the flooer o them there
There was six and six ladies sat in the king¹s ha¹
Bonnie Jean o Bethelnie was the flooer o them a¹
Doon cam Jeannie Gordon, she cam tripping doonstairs
And she¹s favoured Glenlogie o a¹ that was there
Glenlogie, Glenlogie gin ye prove sae kind
My love¹s laid on you and I¹ve told ye my mind
He turned him roond lightly as the Gordons does a¹
I thank ye, Jeannie Gordon but I¹m promised awa¹
She ca¹d tae her maidens for tae make her a bed
Wi ribbons and napkins tae tie up her head
Then oot spak her faither and a wise man was he
I¹ll wad ye tae Dumfendrum he¹s mair gowd than he
O haud your tongue faither for that maunna be
Gin I get nae Glenlogie for him will I dee
Then her faither¹s ain chaplain a man o great skill
He wrote a braid letter and indited it weel
A pox on ye Logie noo sin¹ it is so
A lady¹s love is on ye must she die in her woe?
A pox on ye Logie noo sin¹ it is time
A lady¹s love¹s laid on ye, must she die in her prime?
When Glenlogie got the letter he being amang men
It¹s oot spak Glenlogie what does young women mean?
When he looked on the letter a light lauch gied he
But e¹er he read ower a tear blint his e¹e.
Gae saddle me the black horse and gae saddle me the broon
Bonnie Jeannie o Bethelnie will be dead e¹er I win
But the horses werenae saddled nor led on the green
Till bonnie Glenlogie was three mile his lane
Pale and wan was she when Glenlogie cam in
But red and rosy grew she when she kent it was him
Whaur lies your pain lady does it lie in your head
Whaur lies your pain lady does in lie in your side?
Oh, na, na Glenlogie you¹re far frae the pairt
The pain I lie under it lies in my heart
Turn roond Jeannie Gordon turn on your side
And I¹ll be the bridegroom and ye¹ll be the bride
Noo, Jeannie¹s gotten mairried and her tocher doon told
Bonnie Jean o Bethelnie was scarce sixteen years auld
Bethelnie, oh Bethelnie, ye shine whaur ye stand
And the heather bells aroon ye shine ower Fyvie¹s land.
Jimmy¹s Gone to Flanders
(Tunes trad; words Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, his fiddle lies upon his bed
It was his father¹s fiddle, though he¹s aye been shy to practise it
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, his fishing creel¹s a tangle
From the night he and Willie fished the Earn though there was no moon
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, he¹s spoilt the old dog rotten
With scraps below the table, though I told him time and time again
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, his football boots are sodden
For they¹ve no been near dubbing since he bought them new frae Sandy Broon
When Jimmy¹s home from Flanders he¹ll be shamed to clean thae football boots
And sort out all thon tangle, for the Earn I hear is fishing good
When Jimmy¹s home from Flanders we¹ll be sat down by the table
And we¹ll coax him to his fiddle: ³Jimmy, gie us the Bonawe Highlanders.²
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, though he had a job at Logie¹s yard
But all the lads were joining, it¹ll all by over by Christmas time
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, though he¹s no¹ the strength his father was,
I¹m sure he¹ll be worthy and that Jocky would have burst with pride.
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, and I ken he has a lassie
Her father saw them walking by themselves below the Falls of May
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, he¹s as secret as his father was
But I caught her weeping as the sergeant marched him to the train.
When Jimmy¹s home from Flanders he¹ll be shamed to clean thae football boots
And sort out all thon tangle, for the Earn I hear is fishing good
When Jimmy¹s home from Flanders we¹ll be sat down by the table
And we¹ll coax him to his fiddle: ³Jimmy, gie us the Bonawe
Highlanders.²
Road to New York (State)
(Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS, pub Malcolm)
Driving through New England in the fall
English names I¹ve never seen before
Wooden houses glint among the trees
Like white horses on a golden sea.
The freeway gently weaves
Through an endless land of trees
And the road to New York leads
Through a billion turning leaves.
Houses all decked out for Hallowe¹en
It¹s bigger here than I have ever seen
Pumpkin lanterns draped as blackened ghouls
Like some Christmas time for darker souls.
The freeway gently weaves
Through an endless land of trees
And the road to New York leads
Through a billion turning leaves.
Soon now every leaf will tumble down
And leave a golden carpet on the ground
But I¹ll be home by then and this will be
Just a memory to haunt my dreams.
The freeway gently weaves
Through an endless land of trees
And the Road to New York leads
Through a billion turning leaves.
Forfar Sodger
(Trad, arranged Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS)
In Forfar County I was born, but faith I div think shame, sir
Tae tell o the weary life I led, afore I left my hame, sir
Hurra, hurra, wi my tilt a fal air al aye doh
My faither was a weaver poor, as ever filled a spool, sir
Never was meat cam tae wir door, but jist a pun¹ at Yule, sir
When I was six I gaed tae school, because it was the fashion
And every Sunday tae the kirk tae save me o a thrashin¹
They learnt me there tae read and write, and learnt the rule o three, sir
But a nobler thought cam tae my mind, a sodger I would be, sir
So I gaed doon tae Forfar toon, all in the Forfar County
And I signed up wi¹ Sergeant Brown, for forty pounds o bounty
They gaed me clothes tae hap ma back, mittens for my hands, sir
Swore I was the bravest chiel, in a¹ the Hielan clan, sir
We spent the maist o a¹ our time, just marchin¹ up and doon, sir
A feather bonnet tae wir cap, and poothered tae wir croon, sir
But fegs they gart me change my tune, and sent me off tae Spain, sir
Where 40 regiments in a row, came marchin¹ o¹er the plain, sir
For three long days and nichts we fought, I thought ¹twould never end, sir
¹Til a bullet came fustlin¹ through my leg, and I up and fired again, sir
The surgeon came and dressed my wounds, they said I would be lame, sir
But I got hud o some oxter staffs, and I came hirplin¹ hame, sir
Noo a¹ the things that I¹ve been through,
I¹ve scarcely time tae mention
For noo I¹m back in Forfarshire, and living frae my pension.
Losin¹ Auld Reekie
(Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)
Forty pence in tens, I can¹t wait to spend
Gets me north across the Forth Road Bridge,
Winding down my window, reaching out to pay the man,
Cruisin¹, losin¹ Auld Reekie
Chorus:
Singing though there¹s no-one there to hear me
A good old tune of which I never weary
No city critics to cramp my style or jeer me,
Cruisin¹, losin¹ Auld Reekie
Turn off for Dunfermline, the motorway¹s gey boring
Going to treat myself the long way home
Motorways are faster, but that¹s not what I¹m after
Cruisin¹, losin¹ Auld Reekie.
Trucking on through Dollar, Castle Campbell o¹er my shoulder
Glen Devon is the passage that I¹m seeking
And my motor¹s working harder, as it climbs tae Auchterarder
Cruisin¹, losin¹ Auld Reekie
Fields are full of action, wi¹ the farmers in their traction,
Tattie pickers bending over baskets.
Gulls ahint the tractor as it rips the grun¹ wi clatter
Cruisin¹, losin¹ Auld Reekie.
Not that far from Crieff, Comrie tries to tempt me,
With the finest chip shop in the county
But I¹ve vowed to keep my hunger for a bridie o¹er in Forfar,
Cruisin¹, losin¹ Auld Reekie
Chorus
Sma Glen, Amulree, Dunkeld, Blairgowrie
Hurtling through Blairgowrie, sun¹s shining but it¹s showery
Cruisin¹, losin¹ Auld Reekie
Skiting into Angus, via Kirrie and Padanarum,
Stopping on the other side of Forfar
Well I could have got there quicker
But I¹m fed up cutting corners
Cruisin¹, losin¹ Auld Reekie
Chorus
Neptune
(Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)
Neptune, I think I’m in love with the sea
How do I woo you and make you love me
I’m drenched by your passion
Enthralled by your anger
Becalmed by your beauty
How do I make you love me?
But when he spoke, it was a plea not a roar
If you want my love, then go and tell them all:
Don’t oil my beaches, don’t slaughter my whales
Don’t cross me with diesel, cross me with sail
Give me some time to heal up my wounds
Give me more poison and I will die soon.
Neptune I don’t understand what you fear
Here round my island the waters are clear
I live from your riches, your birds and your fishes
I never would choke you, what do you need from me here?
But then he spoke of all the change caused by me
Your damage seems small, but let me recall
That in your grandfather’s day there ran salmon
You could walk on their backs
Now what’s left of great shoals
Those that slip through the cracks
Now the salmon’s in cages, gorged on fishmeal
Sucked from some other sea by cruel profiteers, so…
Don’t oil my beaches, don’t slaughter my whales
Don’t cross me with diesel, cross me with sail
Give me some time to heal up my wounds
Give me more poison and I will die soon.
Achiltibuie
(Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)
When the springtime comes
I get hungry for the north
Like the geese I want to fly
Make an arrow in the sky
I want to travel like a salt sea tinker
Round the Hebridean Isles
Cos I’ve fallen, hook, line, sinker
For a bonny McKenzie child
And I’ll be waiting for you in Achiltibuie.
When the primroses grow by the roads
To the mountains of Skye
I’ll be shedding my clothes
Cause if feels like the fourth of July
I want to truck along a hundred B roads
See the Hebrides in style
But I’ll be sailing the way that the wind blows
To my bonnie McKenzie child
And I’ll be waiting for you in Achiltibuie.
I want to travel like a salt sea tinker
Round the Hebridean Isles
Cos I’ve fallen, hook, line, sinker
For a bonny McKenzie child
And I’ll be waiting for you in
Achiltibuie.
Sir Patrick Spens
(Lyric trad; melody, arrangement Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS)
THE king sits in Dunfermline town
Drinking the blude-red wine;
³Whare will I find a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o mine?²
And up and spak the eldest knicht
From where he sat by the king’s richt knee;
³Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sail¹d the sea.²
The king has written a braid letter
And seal¹d it with his hand
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens
Who was walking on the strand.
The first word that Sir Patrick read
So loud, loud laugh did he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read
The tears blinded his e¹e.
Chorus (repeat):
³To Noroway, to Noroway
To Noroway o’er the faem
The king¹s daughter o Noroway
it¹s you must bring her hame.²
³O wha is this has done this deed
And tauld the king o me
To send us out, this time of year
To sail upon the sea?²
³Be it wind, weet, hail, or sleet
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king¹s daughter o Noroway
¹Tis we must bring her hame.²
³Mak ready all my merry men
our gude ship sails the morn.²
³Alas alack, my master dear,
for I fear a deadly storm.
I saw the new moon late yestreen
Wi¹ the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea the morn
I fear we¹ll come to harm.²
Chorus (repeat)
They hadna sail¹d a league, a league
A league but barely three
The darkness grew the wind blew loud
And gurly grew the sea.
The ankers brak, the topmast lap
And it was sic a deadly storm:
The waves cam owre the broken ship
Till a¹ her sides were sorely torn.
O laith o laith, were our Scots lords
To wet their cork-heel¹d shoon;
But lang afore the play was play¹d
They wat their hats aboon.
And mony was the feather bed
That flatter¹d on the faem;
And mony was the gude lord¹s son
That never mair cam hame.
Chorus (repeat)
O lang, lang may the ladies sit
Wi¹ their fans into their hand
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand.
Half-owre, to Aberdour
Tis fifty fathoms deep;
And there lies Sir Patrick Spens
Wi¹ the Scots lords at his feet.
Fields of Angus
(Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)
Of all the mills that fill Dundee
There¹s no¹ a loom could harness me
The mill keeps clacking it¹s rare that it stills
But I¹ll soon be traipsing through the Sidlaw Hills
Come leave these dark mills and tramp wi me
Through the fields of Angus and roon by the Tay
We¹ll seek good loanins and work when we¹re keen
And we¹ll while summer evenings
fishing pearls frae the stream
Of all the birds that fill the sky
The cheerful lark is the hardest to spy
But the mill keeps clacking, I¹m choked wi the stoor
And I wish that we were camped by Kirriemuir
Come leave these dark mills and tramp wi me
Through the fields of Angus and roon by the Tay
We¹ll seek good loanins and work when we¹re keen
And we¹ll while summer evenings
fishing pearls frae the stream
Of all the months that fill the year
The cruel November fills my fear,
But the mill keeps clackin and winter¹s aroun¹
And we¹ll hae to find a job in Dundee toon.
Come leave these dark mills and tramp wi me
Through the fields of Angus and roon by the Tay
We¹ll seek good loanins and work when we¹re keen
And we¹ll while summer evenings
fishing pearls frae the stream
Repeat chorus
Lochs of the Tay
(Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcom)
From Forfar the Dean Water,
Drains the Vale of Strathmore
Doon the lazy looping Isla,
To the Tay by Meiklour,
Now the Isla¹s early roaming,
Is in Highland no¹ in Lowland
Where the Ardle and Shee,
Twine in Ericht¹s company
Chorus:
For the lochs o the Tay,
Are the jewels in the crown
Of a Scone coronation
And the streams of the shire
Course the county that¹s dearest tae me.
Now the Garry never tarried
in a melt-swollen spring
With the Bruar, Tilt and Erochty
leaching Atholl¹s high grun¹
From the moors o lonely Rannoch
Trickles peat frae many dark loch
Through the Tummel¹s cleft braes
By the northern highways.
Chorus
Doon the Dochart and the Lochy,
spillin doon tae Loch Tay
Killin tae Kenmore tae Aberfeldy,
just a raft race away
Up the pools o high Breadalbane
slip the sleek Lyon salmon
As they funnel their way
Atween Schiehallion and Tay
Chorus
As the Bran pours by Loch Freuchie
doon the braes tae Dunkeld
So the Almond hurries Sconeward,
aye the Tay¹s eldest child
But the Earn will run her own way,
giving way to Tay only
Ere she flows tae the tide,
wi¹ the Farg on her side,
For the lochs o the Tay
Are the jewels in the crown
Of a Scone coronation
And the streams of the shire
Course the county that¹s dearest tae me.
For the lochs o the Tay
Are the jewels in the crown
Of a Scone coronation
And the streams of the shire
Course the county that¹s
dearest tae me.
The Wild Geese
(Words Violet Jacob; music Jim Reid; pub Springthyme Music)
³Oh tell me fit was on your road
You roarin Norlan wind,
As ye cam blawin¹ frae the land
That¹s never frae my mind,
My feet they traivel England
But I¹m deein for the North.²
³My man I¹ve seen the siller tides
Run up the Firth o Forth.²
³Oh wind I ken them weel eneuch
And fine they fall and rise,
And fain I saw the creepin mist
On yonder shore that lies,
But tell me as ye passed them by,
What saw ye on the way?²
³My man I rocked the rovin¹ gulls
That sail abune the Tay.²
³But saw ye naething, leein wind
Afore ye cam tae Fife?
For there¹s muckle lying yont the Tay
That¹s mair tae me nor life.²
³My man I¹ve swept the Angus braes
Ye havna trod for years.²
³Oh wind, forgi¹e a hameless loon
That canna see for tears.²
³And far beyond the Angus straths
I saw the wild geese flee,
A lang, lang skein o beatin wings
Wi their heids towards the sea
And aye their cryin¹ voices trailed
Ahint them on the air…²
³Oh wind, hae mercy, hud yer whisht,
For I daurna listen mair.²
Flowers of Edinburgh
(Tune trad; words Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)
You will find on the road
From the castle down to Holyrood
A funny little stone set in the cobbles of St Giles
If you stand for a while you will surely see a local
Passing by and spitting at it in a practised style.
If he wears the maroon he is showing his allegiance
To the Heart of Midlothian, a loyal Proddy man,
If he¹s wearing the green he is spitting disobedience
As a duty-bound supporter of Hibernian.
I can tell you that the flowers of Edinburgh
Aren¹t in the floral clock in Princes Street
They¹re the quirky little things
That Auld Reekie often brings
Tae remind you of the history
Beneath your feet
I can tell you that the flowers of Edinburgh
Aren¹t just the girls at university
They¹re the quirky little things
Auld Reekie often brings
Tae remind you of the history
Beneath your taes.
If you¹re strolling along on the quiet side of Princes Street
Admiring the castle with an ice-cream in your hand
all around are the splendours of Scotia¹s bonnie capital
The Walter Scott memorial, the Ross Bandstand
There¹s a loud sudden bang as your heart ceases beating
As your ice-cream is flying as you¹re diving tae the grun
But you¹re helped to your feet by a dear old local lady
who will tell you you¹ve been startled by the one o¹clock gun
I can tell you that the flowers of Edinburgh
Aren¹t in the floral clock in Princes Street
They¹re the quirky little things
That Auld Reekie often brings
Tae remind you of the history
Beneath your feet
I can tell you that the flowers of Edinburgh
Aren¹t just the girls at university
They¹re the quirky little things
Auld Reekie often brings
Tae remind you of the history
Beneath your taes.
The Party
(J. Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)
Well I tanned my father¹s whisky
When he went away on holiday
Oatcakes, my mother¹s sherry
She got frae Jean in Broughty Ferry
And then I threw a party
But you should have seen the carpet
Knew my ma would have a hairy fit
Time for a sharp exit.
I thought I¹d join the Foreign Legion,
Just to get me oot the region,
But I didn¹t have a passport
And my sister wouldn¹t hold the fort.
Why did I throw another party?
I was the victim of flattery
My mates said my party was the best
Could they come back and drink the
booze that¹s left?
Word spread around the neighbourhood,
Soon every room was full of drunken youths,
Along came the local skinheads
Docs bouncing up on my ma¹s Slumberland bed.
The gay abandon of the mindless few
Put courage in the others too,
Soon all the things they wouldn¹t do at home
Surged over like the brimy, brimy foam.
Thank
goodness for the boys in blue,
My sister phoned them when they smashed the loo,
Soon all the underage drinkers,
Were diving oot the kitchen windows.
And very soon I found I was alone
In the middle of a battlezone
My sister¹s picking through the rubble,
Calculating my trouble.
I filled a trolly full at B&Q
But the mess was beyond paint and glue
The lovely home that was my mother¹s pride
I had damaged more than I could possibly hide.
My sister¹s sitting in her bedroom
Waiting for the folks to come home
She wants to see me getting slaughtered
She is the goody goody daughter.
She says I¹ll have to face the music
I wasn¹t worried about the music
I was feart to get a doing
My faither¹s size 10 shoe in.
I even phoned up the Samaritans
But they just told me:
³Tell it as it stands²
So now I brace myself for aggro
From my suntanned daddio.
